


Death on the Marsh

by JohnAmendAll



Category: Doctor Syn, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-22
Updated: 2012-04-22
Packaged: 2017-11-04 03:17:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/389128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnAmendAll/pseuds/JohnAmendAll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Romney Marsh, 1786. The Doctor, Jamie and Zoë investigate a murder, and tidy a kitchen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Body

**Author's Note:**

> From a [dw_straybunnies](http://dw-straybunnies.livejournal.com/) prompt: _[Two, Jamie and Zoe in some kind of murder mystery set up — or just tidying up the kitchen.](http://dw-straybunnies.livejournal.com/1500.html)_
> 
> You shouldn't need to be familiar with Russell Thorndike's "Doctor Syn" books to make sense of this story. But if you are, it's set between _The Amazing Quest of Doctor Syn_ and _The Shadow of Doctor Syn_.

There was little to distinguish the road from others in the area. Winding from one village in the vague direction of another, it ran on a low embankment, intended to lift it above the reach of floods. On either side, a straggling hedge separated it from the fields through which it ran. 

Though by no means abandoned, the road was hardly well-trafficked, and no shepherd or labourer was passing by as an unearthly, hollow groaning sound filled the air. At the foot of the embankment, on the eastern side of the road, a tall wooden box, painted blue and topped by a flashing light, faded slowly into existence. The words POLICE PUBLIC CALL BOX were clearly marked above its door; words meaningless in a century that had neither police, nor call boxes. 

A few minutes after the box had assumed complete solidity and the roar of its arrival had died away, the door at the front opened and three people emerged. First came a short, untidy-looking man with a mop of dark hair, clad in a baggy coat and checked trousers that seemed a size too big for him. He was followed by a young man wearing a sleeveless jacket, kilt complete with sporran, and heavy boots; and a petite brunette apparently in her late teens, almost completely hidden from view inside an immense raincoat. 

"Now, then," the first man said. He looked around, giving the impression that he was inclined to be satisfied with what he saw. "What have we here?" 

"Gravity and atmospheric composition were Earth normal," the girl said. "Are we on Earth again, Doctor?" 

"Och, what's the point of asking him?" the younger man said. "You should know by now he's never got the faintest idea where we are." 

The older man gave him a mild look of reproach; this subject had obviously been the topic of discussion on many previous occasions. "I don't think that's very fair, Jamie." 

"It looks like Earth," the girl persisted. She glanced around. "We ought to get a better view from up there." 

She suited her actions to her words, scrambling up the bank and pushing her way through a gap in the hedge. 

"Zoë, wait... Och, come on, Doctor, we'd best get after her." 

The Doctor nodded, and in minutes he and Jamie had joined Zoë on the road. Although it was no more than a few feet above the level of the field, this gain in height was enough to give them a commanding view of the entire area. The fields stretched away in all directions, intersected by dykes and roads, dotted here and there with villages or farmsteads. In the distance, to the north and east, the land rose in gentle slopes, but elsewhere the terrain was, as far as could be discerned, completely level. 

"Can't be Scotland," Jamie said. "It's too flat." 

Zoë nodded. "This looks like reclaimed land. Are we in the Netherlands?" 

"Maybe," the Doctor said. "I can't be sure yet. I think we need to explore." 

He set off along the road, having chosen a direction apparently at random. Jamie and Zoë obediently followed, walking along the outer edges of the embankment where the surface of the road was less rutted and the view of their surroundings was best. The fields seemed to stretch away forever, dotted with reed-edged pools and seemingly given over entirely to grazing sheep. In the sky overhead, seagulls wheeled. 

The TARDIS had long since been lost to view in the twists and turns of the road when Zoë called "Doctor!" 

The Doctor and Jamie spun round, to see Zoë standing on the edge of the embankment and looking down. As they got closer to her, Jamie recognised her expression; it was the regretful, almost queasy look that Zoë always got when she saw an act of violence, or its aftermath. 

"Down there," she said, pointing down the embankment. 

The Doctor and Jamie looked. All the time they had been walking, the road had been running alongside a dyke; and it was into this body of water that they now directed their attention. Floating in the water was what, at first glance, appeared to be a discarded scarlet coat. But a closer look revealed that the coat had an occupant. Face-down in the water, unmoving, there was little doubt that this was a dead man. 

The Doctor glanced around, apparently satisfying himself that they were the only three people in earshot, then cautiously made his way down the bank of the dyke, beckoning his companions to follow him. Soon, they were standing at the edge of the water. 

"We'd better get him out of there," he said. 

It took all three of them to drag the waterlogged corpse out of the dyke and onto the grass bank. In addition to his red coat, the man had been wearing pale breeches, boots and a crossbelt. 

"He's a redcoat!" Jamie said. 

"I can see that," Zoë replied. She seemed reluctant to look too closely at the dead man, preferring to concentrate on wiping her hands on the grass of the embankment. 

"No, you don't understand. I don't just mean his coat's red. He looks just like those soldiers we fought against. Before I met the Doctor." 

The Doctor nodded. "Yes, Jamie. That's definitely an eighteenth-century British uniform. I wonder..." 

He paused in thought for a few moments. 

"Zoë!" he said sharply. "We need to report this to someone in authority. Go back to the road and keep going. You should come to a village or a town sooner or later. Tell them what we've found." 

Zoë rose to her feet. "What are you going to do?" she asked. 

"Jamie and I will keep an eye on the body. We'll be fine." 

Though she wasn't capable of great speed in her cumbersome raincoat and Wellington boots, Zoë did her best to comply, hurrying away in the direction they'd been heading. 

"Why did you send her?" Jamie asked. "I'd have been faster." 

"Well, I don't know exactly where and when we are," the Doctor admitted. "It's quite possible that you're breaking the law at the moment." 

"What? How's that?" 

"After Culloden, they made it illegal to wear those." The Doctor pointed at Jamie's kilt. "I didn't want you to get arrested." 

"Not allowed to wear the kilt?" Jamie snorted. "I suppose they think if they take our kilts away we'll all turn into good wee bootlickers who'll do what King George says." 

"Also," the Doctor said, putting his arm around Jamie's shoulders and hastily changing the subject, "I don't think Zoë would have liked waiting about in the company of a dead body." 

"Ah, well, she's only a lass. Ye cannae expect it of her." 

"No." The Doctor knelt by the dead man. "You've got more experience of that kind of thing. I'm sorry to say that it does tend to happen, if you travel with me for any length of time." 

*

It was more than half an hour by Jamie's watch before Zoë returned, accompanied by a group of people. In addition to a number of men wearing coarse homespun, who might have been farmers or labourers, the party included a soldier, wearing a more elaborate version of the dead man's uniform; an elderly man in a frock-coat; and a bespectacled, stooped clergyman, who was accompanied by a small, shabby fellow dressed in black. 

"This is the place," Zoë said, addressing the group. 

The soldier took a few paces down the bank, briefly glanced at the body, and then looked up. 

"You were quite right, miss," he said. "He's one of my men. Travis, his name was." He turned to the other men of the party. "I fear there is nothing you can do for him, doctor, Reverend." 

The little man standing beside the parson shook his head. "Nothing doing. I've seen 'em pulled out of the water like that, when I was serving in His Majesty's navy. Been dead some hours, I'd say." Leaving the group on the road, he approached the body. "Best thing to do is get him in the ground as soon as possible. Oh. Ain't introduced meself, have I? Mipps is the name. I'm by way of bein' the sexton 'round these parts — and the undertaker." 

One of the labourers was promptly dispatched to fetch a handcart, while the elderly man — presumably the local doctor — and the clergyman made their own brief examinations of the body. 

"You'll have to come back to Dymchurch with us, of course," the officer said. "The magistrate may have questions for you. You're not local people, are you?" 

The Doctor shook his head. "No, we were just passing through." 

"Captain Nicholas Holloway." The officer held out his hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr..." 

"Doctor." The Doctor vigorously shook his hand. "Allow me to present Mr James McCrimmon, and my, ah, ward, Miss Zoë Heriot." 

"Another doctor? We're quite a distinguished company." The Captain turned as the other two gentlemen regained the top of the bank, and formally presented them: the medic was Doctor Sennacharib Pepper, while the clergyman was introduced as the Reverend Christopher Syn, Doctor of Divinity, Vicar of Dymchurch and Dean of the Peculiars. 

Once the handcart had arrived, four of the workmen, under the direction of Mipps, loaded the body onto it and covered it decently with a sheet. Then the party set out once more in the direction of Dymchurch. 

"Where is Dymchurch, anyway?" Jamie asked. 

"It's on the coast of Kent," the Doctor explained. "All this countryside is the Romney Marsh." 

Jamie glanced around dismissively. "It's still too flat." 

"Well, as Zoë says, it's reclaimed land. They have a big sea wall, all along the coast, with sluice gates to drain the water. Otherwise all these fields would be flooded every time the tide came in. I expect that's it, over there." He pointed at a green bank in the distance, which appeared to run more or less at right angles to the road they were on. 

"Oh, aye." 

The Doctor decided Jamie was in no mood to be educated and turned to Zoë. "You didn't have any trouble finding help?" 

"I couldn't find a policeman," Zoë said. "So I asked people who I should talk to, and they said I should go to the vicarage, Doctor Syn would know what to do. Well, he sent Mr Mipps for Captain Holloway and Doctor Pepper — why do they call him a 'sawbones'?" 

"Because that's what he does," Jamie replied, with a grin. "If there's something wrong wi' your leg or your arm, he saws it off. With a couple of strong men holding you down." 

"That's—" Zoë broke off, looking sick, and obviously turning words such as 'primitive' and 'barbarian' over in her mind. 

"That's the state of the art, I'm afraid," the Doctor said, patting her on the shoulder. "Remember we're about three hundred years before your time — you've got to make allowances. I take it these other gentlemen came of their own accord?" 

"Yes. I suppose word had got around by then." She looked up at the Doctor. "What happens now?" 

"Well, the magistrate will make enquiries," the Doctor said. 

"That would be the squire, in this parish," Doctor Syn remarked. He'd obviously been close enough to hear at least some of their conversation, and had decided that the newcomers ought to be educated in the ways of the Marsh. "My good friend, Sir Antony Cobtree." He shook his head. "I'm afraid he won't care for it." 

"I should think not," Zoë said emphatically. 

"Oh, not in the way you're thinking, young lady. I only meant that he'd rather be out riding to hounds than asking questions of witnesses and going over evidence." 

"Yes, I see," the Doctor said. "You mean he'd prefer a quick answer." 

"Well, shouldn't be a problem, should it?" Jamie asked cheerfully. "Yon Redcoat fell in the ditch and drowned." 

The two Doctors exchanged glances. Doctor Syn coughed politely. 

"In all conscience and honesty, I must say that I do not believe this to be an accident," he said. 

"Why?" Zoë asked. 

"My dear young lady, this is not the time or the place to discuss such matters." 

He moved away slightly, deliberately marking the subject closed for the present.


	2. The Scarecrow

By the time that the party had finally arrived at Dymchurch and the body had been safely locked away in an outbuilding behind Mr Mipps's workshop, the sun was almost on the western horizon. The labourers who had assisted with the recovery of the body departed to their evening meals, doubtless to share the day's tidings with their families. Six people were left to bear the news to the squire: Captain Holloway, Jamie, Zoë, and the three Doctors. 

New Hall, which incorporated the Courthouse and the squire's residence, stood opposite the church in the middle of the village. Its name might have been accurate two hundred years before; certainly, there was nothing new about it now. On being admitted, the party were ushered straight away to the dining room, where the squire himself, a hearty, ruddy-faced man in his sixties, was standing before the fireplace. Beside him was an auburn-haired young lady of around Jamie's age, who was introduced as his youngest daughter Cicely. 

"All right, Christopher," the squire began, addressing Doctor Syn. "What's all this about, eh?" 

With admirable precision and economy of language, the vicar recounted the events of the day: the arrival at the parsonage of the young woman now known to him as Miss Heriot, their return to the scene, and the recovery of the body. Captain Holloway made his own contribution, confirming the identity of the dead man. 

"And you're the three that found this man's body?" Squire Cobtree asked, turning to the Doctor and his companions. 

"Aye, that's right," Jamie said. "And we pulled him out of the water, too." 

The squire gave the three travellers a closer look, as if noticing their unusual clothes and demeanour for the first time. 

"Travellers," he said. "And from far-off parts, by the look of you. Where d'you come from?" 

"I'm from Scotland, of course," Jamie said. "Can ye not see that?" 

"I'd guessed as much. A man after my friend Doctor Syn's own heart, by the look of you. Has he told you his father fell at Culloden?" 

Doctor Syn nodded in confirmation. "I would have been there, but he said I was too young to fight. I was only a boy at the time." 

"Oh, aye," Jamie said, with a dazed look on his face. 

"But you haven't walked here from Scotland today, have you?" Squire Cobtree persisted. "And you two — you certainly aren't highlanders. Where d'you live? Who are your people?" 

"Well, we don't actually live in any particular place," the Doctor said. "We travel as the fancy takes us. I'm afraid there isn't anyone, really, who can speak for us." 

"Hmph." The squire turned to the third doctor in the room. "And you, Sennacherib. What have you to tell me?" 

"I do not believe this man was drowned," Doctor Pepper said. "He was dead before he fell into the water. His skull was broken, as if by a blow from behind." 

"I agree," Captain Holloway said. "This man was murdered." 

The squire's face darkened. "Footpads? Or is it that accursed Scarecrow again? Damned cheek of the man." He glanced at the window, outside which it was now dark. "Too late to go into the thing now. It'll have to keep until tomorrow. Plaguey nuisance! I think you three—" he nodded at the travellers "— had best stay here tonight. Cicely, will you take them and Captain Holloway to the drawing room? And then let the housekeeper know we have guests." 

Deposited in the drawing room by the squire's daughter, the four sat in uneasy silence, which was broken by Zoë. 

"When the squire was interviewing us, he said something about a scarecrow," she said. "What did he mean?" 

"You've not heard of the Scarecrow, miss?" Captain Holloway asked. 

Zoë realised she'd probably made a mistake. Nothing she could do about it but brazen things out. "As the Doctor said, we're not from this part of the world," she temporised. 

"So you are." He gave her a hard look. "I suppose what seems so important to us on the Marsh might not seem so important to outsiders. Simply, miss, the Scarecrow is the chief of the Marsh smugglers. We first heard of him nigh on ten years ago. He's run rings round the Customs men and the Navy ever since — and, much as it pains me to admit it, we've not fared any better." 

Jamie leaned forward. "Why do they call him the Scarecrow?" 

"Because that's how he dresses, miss — all in rags." 

"You've seen him?" Zoë asked eagerly. 

"Yes, one night. I was out on the Marsh with my men. We'd heard they were landing contraband at Jesson Beach." He shrugged. "Half the time these stories are lies, put about to make sure we're somewhere else, and so it was that night. We got word towards midnight that the real landing was at Dungeness, and by the time we got there 'twas all but over. There was only one man on the beach." He paused briefly, remembering the scene. "One man, on a great black horse, dressed in rags, just as they said. He had the moon at his back, and a broad-brimmed hat so his face was in shadow, and he called out to us in a strange, croaking voice, daring us to follow him. We gave chase, but..." He shrugged. "He must know every farm, every dyke, every hedge of the Marsh, and he rides like the Devil himself— I beg your pardon, miss, for my profane language." 

Zoë looked puzzled. "Not at all." 

"Well, there it is," Holloway said. "That's the man who's led the smugglers these ten years, and the law hasn't laid a finger on him. Oh, we've come close enough times, and I daresay one day he'll make a mistake, but until then, he's got the run of the Marsh, and there's precious little can be done to stop him." 

"And you think he killed your soldier — Travis?" 

"It could well be. Or maybe one of his night riders struck the blow. They're a rough lot round these parts, miss." 

The door opened, admitting Cicely Cobtree. 

"I am sorry that you've had to wait," she said. "My father has given instructions that you are to dine with us tonight — you too, Captain." 

"That's very kind of you," the Doctor said. "Oh, and I think Zoë may need to borrow something more suitable to wear, if you've got anything that might fit her." 

"Do I?" Zoë asked, looking puzzled once more. 

"Well, we could ask Miss Cobtree's opinion. Take your coat off and see what she says." 

Zoë shrugged, and did so. By the standards of her own time, the dark green catsuit she was wearing underneath would have been a fairly conservative garment. But from Cicely's astonished reaction, it obviously wasn't the case here. 

"Oh!" Cicely's eyes opened wide. "I— Miss Heriot, have you been riding?" 

"No," Zoë said, no less puzzled. "I can't ride." 

"Then why— but enough. You must come with me at once." She hustled Zoë from the room. 

"You must excuse my ward," the Doctor said. "Her upbringing wasn't the most conventional." 

"Obviously not," Holloway said. "And her name— Greek, isn't it? Is she a foreigner?" 

"I suppose you could put it like that," Jamie said. 

"Well, then, I suppose one must make allowances." 

Jamie nodded. "That's what we do. All the time." 

*

The Doctor didn't get a chance to speak to his companions in private until after dinner, when they were able to snatch a few moments together at the foot of the main staircase. 

"Jamie, are you all right?" Zoë asked. "You look as if something's upset you." 

Jamie gave her the appraising look he always did when she guessed his emotions correctly. When she'd first joined the TARDIS, she hadn't been able to do that at all. 

"It's like this," he said. "When yon parson spoke about Culloden." 

"Oh?" 

"He's an old man. But he couldnae go to the battle, because he was a boy then. So he's younger than me." 

Zoë did some mental arithmetic. "They said the battle was about forty years ago, didn't they? He'd be in his late fifties now. That isn't old." 

"Maybe not in your time," the Doctor said. "You've got all the advantages of modern medicine — well, modern to you, anyway. These people don't." 

"Aye," Jamie added. "And look at him. He looks, well..." 

"Older than I'd expect, certainly," Zoë admitted. 

"And more to the point, much older than Jamie," the Doctor said. 

"But surely you're used to that?" Zoë said. "I mean, you've been travelling with the Doctor for ages." 

"This is different," Jamie said. "This is almost my own time. There could be people here I know. Friends of mine, except they'd all be old men." He fell silent for a while, then forced a smile. "Anyway, you're one to talk. You were fidgeting all through dinner." 

"That's just this dress. It doesn't fit properly and it constricts my movements. I think it's very impractical." 

"You look very nice in it," the Doctor reassured her. 

"Aye," Jamie added. "You're quite pretty when you dress like a girl. A proper girl, I mean." 

In the dim candlelight, Zoë had to hope he could see her annoyed expression. "Oh, Jamie!" 

"Anyway," Jamie said. "What're we going tae do tomorrow?" 

"I daresay we'll have to attend the squire's enquiry tomorrow morning," the Doctor said. "What happens after that depends on whether he lets us go." 

"What d'ye mean, if he lets us go?" 

"We're under suspicion, aren't we?" Zoë said. "But that doesn't make any sense. If we'd been the ones who did it, why would we send for help?" 

"As you say, it's not a very strong case," the Doctor said. "But obviously the Squire wants to keep us here under his eye. I don't think he'll be happy if we try to leave before this business is sorted out." 

"Then we'd better hope it is sorted out," Jamie said. 

"Yes." The Doctor smiled. "Of course, if they don't manage to get to the bottom of it, we could always offer our assistance."


	3. The Soldiers' Story

The proceedings at the Courthouse the following morning took more time than any of the participants would have liked. The dead man's identity was confirmed, and the fact of his death by means of a blow on the head, but how he received that blow remained a mystery. Various theories of the crime were examined, but none seemed particularly plausible. As Zoë had remarked the previous night, nobody could think of a reason why, having killed their victim, the Doctor or his companions should then remain on the scene and call the attention of the law to their crime; and a search of their possessions revealed nothing that could connect them to the dead man. Neither could any evidence be found of interference by unknown footpads or mysterious smugglers. 

After the squire had examined all these possibilities at length, his temper worsening all the time at the thought of the loss of a morning outdoors, he adjourned the enquiry until that day fortnight, cautioning all those involved against leaving the district in that time. Everybody present filed out of the Courthouse and gathered in the street outside, talking the matter over. 

"What do we do now?" Zoë asked. "We aren't just going to sit around here for a fortnight, are we?" 

"Certainly not," the Doctor said. "I think we ought to make a few enquiries of our own." 

Jamie nodded. "Aye. Such as, when did anyone last see yon Redcoat alive?" 

"And where did the body go into the water?" Zoë added. 

"Yes, yes." From his apparently bottomless pockets the Doctor pulled out a notepad and a pencil. "Let me make a note of these. When was this man Travis last seen alive?" He scribbled. "We should ask the other soldiers about that. And then there was your point, Zoë. Find where the body was thrown in." 

Zoë thought about this. "I suppose we'd have to walk along the edge of the ditch looking for marks. That must be quite an area to cover." 

"Maybe. But if we find out where he was going when he was alive, we ought to have an idea where to start. I think we'd better start with Jamie's suggestion. Let's see if we can get Captain Holloway's permission to ask his men some questions." 

He darted through the knots of people in the direction of the Captain's red coat. 

"What d'ye think of that?" Jamie asked. "The Doctor said we should use my idea." 

Zoë gave him a stern look. "Stop being smug, Jamie." 

"Och, that's rich coming from you." Jamie's grin widened. "And you need to pull your skirt up. You're trailing it in the dirt again." 

With an exclamation of annoyance, Zoë hoisted up her skirts by a few inches, revealing that while she had submitted to wearing an eighteenth-century dress and riding coat, she had drawn the line at giving up her wellingtons. Bearing in mind the state of the roads, Jamie thought it a wise choice. 

"I just hope I don't need my hands for anything," she said. "However did women cope with these cumbersome things?" 

"Och, you'll get used to it in time. You should dress like that more often." 

"Oh, yes?" Zoë gave him a teasing look. "Do you think I look attractive in these ridiculous clothes?" 

"Aye, I do." 

Zoë put her nose in the air. "Then I'm definitely not going to dress like this again if I can help it." 

*

"You can come and question my men by all means," Captain Holloway said. "Though I fear you will find us in some disarray. We were up half the night chasing smugglers, and nothing to show for it. Come with me." 

The Doctor beckoned his companions over, and the trio followed Captain Holloway's lead through the streets. 

"What did you make of Miss Cobtree?" Jamie asked Zoë. "You were sharing a bedroom with her last night, weren't you?" 

"That's right," Zoë said. "She's reasonable enough, I suppose. Except when she got onto talking about the Scarecrow. I think he's her hero." She shrugged. "I don't know why. He's a criminal." 

"That'll be why, then," Jamie said. "All the lassies love a romantic outlaw." 

"I don't." 

"Don't you?" the Doctor asked. "Didn't you say you liked reading comics?" 

"Yes," Zoë said warily. 

"And you don't like Batman? Even a little?" 

Zoë looked affronted. "That's different. He's a fictional character." 

"So's Gulliver," Jamie pointed out. "And we've met him. And Rapunzel." 

"Anyway, Batman fights for justice." 

"I'd say a lot of the people here would tell you the Scarecrow does, too," the Doctor said. "They don't have any love for the Revenue men." 

"Nor for my men, either," Captain Holloway said. "They see us as the enemy. Foreigners, you see — begging your pardon, miss. I mean, to these yokels, anyone's a foreigner who isn't from the Marsh. Doctor, I'm grateful for your offer of help, but I suspect there are many here who would not mourn Travis's death." 

"Well, we shall just have to do the best we can," the Doctor said. 

*

The Dragoons' camp lay a little outside the village, on the road to the town of Hythe. It appeared, as the party neared it, to be in a state of organised chaos: weary-looking troopers were tending to the lines of horses, or sitting outside tents, cleaning and polishing their kit. 

"It looks as if you've had a busy night," the Doctor said sympathetically. 

"So we have," Captain Holloway said. "Chasing those damned night riders— I beg your pardon, miss— all over the marsh." 

"Don't suppose you caught any, did you?" Jamie said, not hiding his pleasure at the thought. 

"No, we didn't. And a word of advice for you, my lad. It's not wise to play the Jacobite too much with my men. Maybe the likes of the squire and the parson find your talk amusing. But it's King George my troopers have sworn loyalty to. Not Charles Stuart." 

"I hear you," Jamie muttered. 

"As long as we understand each other, then. I suggest you wait here." 

The Captain disappeared into the chaos of the camp, leaving the three time travellers at the entrance. In a few minutes, he was back, accompanied by a tough-looking sergeant and two troopers. 

"Now, then," he said. "Sergeant Barrow here has charge of the section Travis was in. And these men — Woods and Cobbold — are probably the last who saw him. Of the men in the camp, that is." 

"Thank you." The Doctor glanced at the men. "I think it might be easier if we spoke in private." 

"Of course." The Captain bowed, and retired to a discreet distance. 

The Doctor clasped his hands. "Now, then, what do you gentlemen know about this business?" 

"This Travis had been going absent without leave," the sergeant replied. "Creeping off in the early hours. Probably found a local girl who wasn't too fussy." 

"Yes, I see. When did you find out about this?" 

"I've had my suspicions. But suspicions ain't proof. And he was a careful man. Didn't do it too often, and I daresay he knew the right people to square." 

The Doctor looked from the Sergeant to the other two men. "And can you shed any light on this?" 

"He—" One of the men began, and stopped. 

"Speak up, lad," the Sergeant snapped at him. 

"It's true what the Sergeant says, sir. There was a woman he was seeing. Somewhere up Newchurch way." 

"Do you know who she was?" the Doctor asked. 

"No, sir." The trooper glanced at his colleague, who shook his head in mute agreement. "All he said was how she was pretty, and..." 

"And what?" 

"He said as we shouldn't tell anyone, sir." 

"Yes, I think I might be able to guess. Was she a married woman, perhaps?" 

"That's what he told us." 

The Doctor nodded. "That's interesting, isn't it?" 

"Ye mean, if she was married, her husband might have...?" Jamie asked. 

"That's exactly what I mean, Jamie." 

"Then hadn't we better—" 

"Now, Jamie, don't hurry me. Let's make sure there's nothing else these gentlemen have to say. When this man Travis went off to see his lady friend, do you know how long he was away for?" 

The trooper scratched his head. "Three, four hours maybe? Never any less." 

Sergeant Barrow swelled with indignation. "And you've been covering up for him, haven't you? Answering his name at roll call and the like." 

"Sarge, he—" 

"Come on, lad, out with it. And don't call me Sarge!" 

"He said— he said it'd be worth our while—" 

"You mean he bribed you?" the Doctor asked. 

The wretched man looked as if he wanted to sink through the ground. "Yes, sir. Ten shillings, every time." 

"Really? Was he particularly well-off?" 

"Not until a few weeks ago, sir." 

"Throwing his money around, he was," the Sergeant corroborated. "Where he got it from, that's what I'd like to know." 

"I think that's what we'd all like to know," the Doctor said. "Zoë, do you happen to remember — there was an inventory of the man's possessions read out in court, wasn't there?" 

"Of course I remember," Zoë said. "Leather helmet, Ammunition pouch containing the remains of cartridges, handkerchief, small knife—" 

"Yes, yes. Did he have any money?" 

"No." She put her fingers to her temples, as if to aid recollection. "That's why there was all that talk about if he'd been robbed or not. No-one knew if he'd had any money in the first place." 

"Maybe he'd spent it all," Jamie suggested. 

"Or perhaps it was among his personal effects here. I think we ought to take a look at them — if you've no objection, Sergeant?" 

The Sergeant shook his head. "None, sir." 

The search of the dead man's belongings brought nothing new to light, except a few lurid engravings which caused Jamie to blush and Zoë to wonder out loud if the artist had ever seen a real woman. The late Trooper Travis had not been so obliging as to leave behind a diary or any notes. Nor was there any sign of the money he had been so free with. 

"Is there anything else missing?" the Doctor asked. 

"I don't see his locket," Woods said. "The young lady didn't mention it just now." 

Zoë shook her head. "No. There wasn't one on the body." 

"What was it like?" the Doctor said. 

"Gold. About so big. It had a picture of his sister. Leastways, he said it was his sister." 

"Yes, I see. Thank you." 

Having left Troopers Cobbold and Woods to the tender mercies of their sergeant, who seemed inclined to visit every punishment in his power upon them as a way of relieving his feelings, they returned to the entrance, where Captain Holloway was waiting for them. 

"What did you find?" he asked them. "Anything that might shed a light on this business?" 

"Oh, dear me, yes," the Doctor said. "Almost too much, you might say." 

"Too much?" 

"Before I came here, Captain, I wondered why anyone would want to kill your soldier. Now, I can think of at least two reasons." He shrugged. "Well, they can't both be true, can they?" 

"What reasons might these be?" 

"I'd prefer to keep them to myself." The Doctor gave him a reassuring smile. "After all, we don't want to spread any ill-informed gossip, do we? I'll let you know if we discover anything." 

He shook the man's hand, and set out in the direction of Dymchurch, his companions following. 

"What were the two reasons you were thinking of?" Jamie asked. "I suppose one of them's to do with this woman he's been seeing." 

"Exactly, Jamie. It gives her husband a good motive, doesn't it?" 

"And presumably the other one's robbery," Zoë said. "Everybody said he had a lot of money. Where's it gone?" 

"Quite so." The Doctor put his arms round his companions' shoulders. "But that leads to another question. Where did it come from?" 

"Was he in someone's pay?" Jamie wondered. 

"Maybe he was working for the smugglers," Zoë suggested. "If they're as sophisticated as everybody says, they've probably got spies inside every law enforcement agency in these parts." 

"Yes, yes, quite possible." The Doctor gazed vaguely inland. "I think our next task must be to find the young lady." 

"How?" 

"Well, let's see. If this man was absent without leave for between three and four hours every time, what can you deduce from that?" 

"That's straightforward," Zoë said. "His journey time would be 1.5 hours at most. Variation would be introduced depending how long he spent at the other end." 

"Hang on a bit," Jamie said. "Doctor, what's she trying to say?" 

"That the young lady can't be more than an hour and a half from here," the Doctor explained. 

"That's what I just said!" Zoë protested. 

Jamie ignored her. "An hour and a half riding, or walking?" 

"Oh, on foot, I think. He might be able to cover up his own absence, but I don't think that would extend to his horse as well. And someone would have noticed if the horse was always tired." 

"So call it four or five miles," Jamie said. "Somewhere up Newchurch way, wherever that is." 

"We'll have to ask when we get back to the village," Zoë said. 

"I hope we can get something to eat, too. It's hours since breakfast." 

The Doctor chuckled. "There speaks the Jamie I know."


	4. Down on the Farm

After a hasty meal of bread and cheese at the 'Ship' inn, the Doctor and his companions set out along the same road where, the previous day, they had found the Dragoon's body. It was neither the quickest, nor the most direct route to the village of Newchurch, but the Doctor had agreed that it was their best chance to find the place where the body had entered the water. 

Slowly, the three worked their way along the bank of the dyke, their eyes fixed on the margins of the water. It was tedious going; each bend in the road revealed another, almost identical, length of ditch to examine. 

"Doctor," Jamie said suddenly. "Isn't this where we landed?" 

"It does look familiar," the Doctor admitted. "Wouldn't you agree, Zoë?" 

Zoë straightened up and rubbed her back. "Yes, this is definitely the place. Why?" 

"Because if it is, the TARDIS ought to be just down there," Jamie said. "And it isnae." 

"It— oh, my word!" 

The three hurried down the embankment into the field where the TARDIS had landed the previous day. A square depression in the grass showed the place it had stood; around it, the ground was trampled as if by the movement of men and horses. 

"Someone's taken it," Jamie said. 

"Yes." The Doctor turned slowly, surveying the scene. "And there can't be that many people in these parts with easy access to ropes and haulage." 

"The smugglers!" Zoë said. "The soldiers were chasing them last night, weren't they? They must have taken it. But why?" 

"As a bargaining counter, perhaps. Or maybe they thought there was something valuable inside it." He peered at the confused tracks on the ground. "I think they took it back to the road. After that... who knows?" 

"Then hadn't we better see about getting it back?" Jamie asked. "Otherwise we'll be stuck here forever." 

"First things first, Jamie. Let's see if we can sort this murder out and deal with the TARDIS later." 

They returned to the road, and continued their search. 

*

Perhaps an hour later, the Doctor came to a halt. 

"I think this might be the place," he said, pointing at the bank of the dyke. "Look at those marks." 

"I can't see any marks," Zoë said. 

"No, he's right." Jamie scrambled down the bank, and knelt by the water's edge. "I reckon something's gone into the water here. About the size of a man." 

"Shouldn't we—" Zoë began, and broke off. 

"Shouldn't we what?" the Doctor asked. 

"I was going to say we shouldn't tamper with a crime scene. I keep thinking there ought to be people doing sub-molecular scans and searching for fingerprints and genetic traces. How are we supposed to find anything out by ourselves?" 

The Doctor patted her on the shoulder. "We'll have to fall back on common sense." 

"That'll not be easy for Zoë," Jamie said, climbing back up to join them. "She's hardly got any." 

Zoë stuck her tongue out at him. "Go on, then. What does your common sense tell you now?" 

"Um." Jamie looked around, in search of inspiration. "Doctor?" 

"Well, I should say, if the body was thrown in here, whoever did it came down that track." He pointed at a rutted side-turning. "It looks as if it leads to that farm." 

"Another farm," Jamie said, with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. Their route had already taken them past two or three farmhouses, and he had found their inhabitants uniformly surly, uncooperative, and speaking with rustic accents so thick he'd sometimes had difficulty understanding them. 

"Yes, that's what it looks like. Come along." 

The Doctor led the way down the track. Sure enough, it led to a cluster of grubby buildings, surrounding a courtyard. A scruffy-looking man with a shovel seemed to be in the process of moving manure from one pile to another. 

"Excuse me," the Doctor said. 

The man looked round, and grounded his shovel in one of the heaps. "What do 'ee want here?" 

"Could you tell me whose farm is this, please?" 

"Mr Parks." 

"Do you know if he's at home?" 

The farmhand jerked his thumb at one of the doorways. "In there." 

"Well, thank you very much." The Doctor crossed the courtyard to the indicated door, which was standing open. Pausing only to give the briefest of knocks, he plunged into the building, his companions close behind. 

In contrast to the run-down appearance of the outside of the farmhouse, the interior, though gloomy and low-roofed, had an air of comfort. The flagstones of the floor were scrubbed clean; the furniture, dark with age, had a fresh coat of polish. 

A tall, burly man rose from a chair at the far end of the room as the Doctor entered. Beside him, a woman appeared to be sewing, with her head bent over her work. 

"Farmer Parks, I presume," the Doctor said. 

"That's me," the farmer replied shortly. 

"Ah, splendid. I'm the Doctor, and these are my friends Jamie and Zoë." 

"No call for a doctor here. No-one's ill." 

"Yes, I can see you're certainly in excellent health. We just wanted to ask a few questions. Do you happen to have seen a soldier in these parts, recently?" 

"Seen a lot. Riding about over my land with their horses. Damnation to the lot of them, I say." 

"Not one on his own, then? Apparently the Dragoons have lost a man. Rather an unsatisfactory character, from what I've heard. It was thought he might have come this way." 

"And what's it to you if he did? You bain't no soldiers, nor constables neither." 

"It's the duty of any citizen—" Zoë began. 

The farmer advanced on them, his face reddening. "Don't 'ee talk to me of duty. I got no time for interfering soldiers, and I got no time for spies. Drown the lot, that's what I say." He strode to the door, and flung it open. "You three bain't welcome under my roof." 

He pointed at the door. 

"Now, just a moment," Jamie said, taking a protective stance in front of the Doctor. He was promptly shoved out into the farmyard, nearly colliding with the labourer they'd met earlier. The Doctor and Zoë scurried out before they could get the same treatment. 

"Clear off, all of you!" Farmer Parks shouted after them. "And you, Ned, what be you skulking about here for? Get back to they sheep at once!" 

The farmhand lost no time in hurrying from the yard. The Doctor shrugged, and began to walk in the direction of the track by which they'd arrived. 

"Good riddance!" the farmer shouted after him, and slammed the farmhouse door. 

"He's even worse than the others," Jamie said. 

"Yes, he is, isn't he?" The Doctor came to a halt, glanced around, and lowered his voice. "I'm sure he knows something." 

"D'ye think it was his wife yon soldier was carrying on with? She looked quite bonny." 

"How can you say she was pretty?" Zoë protested. "You didn't see her face. She didn't look up at all." 

"The rest of her seemed all right to me." 

"I wouldn't let Farmer Parks hear you say that," the Doctor said. "I don't think he'd be willing to share her." 

Jamie shook his head. "No, he wouldnae. So if he came in and found yon Travis carrying on wi' his wife... well, mightn't there be murder done?" 

"That's certainly a plausible theory, Jamie." 

"But how could we prove it?" Zoë asked. 

"I don't know. But I don't think we ought to leave until we've had a word with the other man." 

"The one he called 'Ned'?" 

"I reckon he was listening at the door while we were inside," Jamie said. 

"Exactly. If he's in the habit of doing that, who knows what else he might have found out?" 

Jamie pointed out into the fields, at a figure walking unhurriedly away from them. "There he is." 

A few minutes' brisk walk sufficed for them to catch up with the farmhand. 

"Now what do 'ee want?" he demanded, sounding no more cordial than before. 

"Oh, I think you've got quite a good idea," the Doctor said. 

The man gave him a sharp look. "Maybe I have. Thief-takers, are you?" 

"Maybe." 

"Don't know why ye're sniffing about here, then. Nothing's been stolen." 

"And nothing else has happened? You haven't noticed any change in Farmer Parks over the last few weeks? Or in his wife — that is his wife at the farmhouse, isn't it?" 

"That's her." 

The Doctor took a deep breath. "Well, now. Do you happen to have seen a soldier around these parts recently?" 

"Maybe." 

"What do you mean, maybe?" Zoë demanded. "Either you did or you didn't." 

The man favoured her with a cunning, gap-toothed grin. "'Twas a dark night, night before last. Can't be sure what I seed." 

"Och, what's the use?" Jamie said. "He doesnae ken a thing." 

"Either that, or he's after a bribe," the Doctor said. "Well, he won't get one from us. Come along." 

He set out back towards the farm, Jamie and Zoë following. Before they had gone ten paces, the farmhand had hurried after them. 

"I'll tell 'ee," he said. 

"You mean you'll invent some tale or other in the hope of a reward," the Doctor replied, not stopping. 

"There isn't any harm in hearing him out, is there?" Zoë asked. 

"I suppose not." The Doctor turned to face his witness. "What happened?" 

"'Twas about an hour before dawn. I hears noises outside — I sleeps in the hayloft, see? I looks through the window, and I sees the master and another man, standing yonder by the dyke." He pointed in the direction of the road. 

"And you think this other man could have been a soldier?" 

"Could be. I sees white on his coat — maybe 'tis his crossbelt?" 

"And then what happened?" 

"He turns away — t'other man, not the master. And master, he takes his stick, and— I dursen't look, but I hears a splash. Then I goes back to my bed." 

"And perhaps you thought, later, you'd ask for a wee bit of money from your master, to hold your tongue?" Jamie asked. 

The man shook his head. "Then it'd be me in the dyke, with my head stoved in." 

"Very illuminating," the Doctor said. "Thank you, Mr— What is your full name?" 

"White. Ned White." 

"Well, you may have to tell your story to the Squire—" 

The Doctor broke off abruptly, at the sound of a distant scream.


	5. In Which a Kitchen is Tidied

"That came from the farmhouse!" Zoë said. "Someone's in trouble!" 

"Come on, then!" Jamie set off for the farm buildings at a run, with Zoë and the Doctor in hot pursuit. By the time they had reached the front door, which was still closed, the shrieks had died away, though other sounds of violence could still be heard. 

Jamie was struggling with the door as the Doctor and Zoë hurried up. 

"It's locked," he said. 

The Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver and aimed it at the lock. "Let's hope this works," he muttered. 

The screwdriver buzzed. For a moment, nothing happened, and then there was a clatter of falling metal from the far side of the door. Jamie hurled himself at the door; it resisted briefly, then fell open. They dived into the farmhouse. The long table was pushed askew, the chairs overturned. As they looked around, there was a crash from a doorway on their left, followed by a gasp of pain. They dashed for the door, Jamie in the lead, and burst in on a scene of chaos. 

The room they now found themselves in was the farmhouse kitchen. Pots and pans were scattered over the floor, amid earthenware shards. Farmer Parks stood in the centre of the room, a formidable cudgel in one hand, while his wife cowered against the dresser. Her face was tearstained and terrified, her bare arms marked with bruises and scratches, her clothes torn. In addition, it was clear why she'd been hiding her face earlier; she had a recently-acquired black eye. 

The farmer turned as the door opened. 

"You!" he snarled. "I told 'ee—" 

"We don't take orders from you," Zoë snapped back. "You leave her alone, you primitive brute!" 

"Keep out o' this, girl. 'Tis no concern o' yourn." 

Zoë took up a position in front of Mrs Parks. "It most certainly is!" 

The farmer advanced on Zoë. "I already said, clear out—" 

"Don't try anything," Jamie said, picking up a rolling pin and taking his place at Zoë's side. "You're in enough trouble already." 

The farmer's reply was unprintable, but, apparently realising he was outnumbered, he lowered his weapon and take a step back. 

"That's better," the Doctor said. "Now, what's all this about?" 

"None o' your business." 

"I'm afraid I shall have to be the judge of that." 

The farmer glared at the Doctor as he might have looked at a small, but dangerous, pest on one of his sheep. "Judge, are ye now?" he sneered. "She's my wife. I can deal with her as I like." 

"Were you here yesterday morning?" the Doctor persisted, unabashed. "At about an hour before sunrise." 

"No. And she knew that, didn't she? And her fancy-man knew it too." He broke off, seeing some danger to himself in the expressions of the Doctor and his companions. "Ye're welcome to her. Damned slut and thief." 

He turned and stalked from the room. A moment later, the front door slammed. 

"Jamie, make sure he doesn't come back." The Doctor hurried over to where the farmer's wife was sobbing. "Now, Mrs Parks, perhaps you'd care to come with me and I'll see what I can do." 

She looked up, fear plainly visible in every line of her face. "Thank you," she whispered. 

"Don't worry," Zoë said. "The Doctor will look after you." 

"This way," the Doctor said. "Zoë, I think it would be helpful if you were to tidy up some of this mess." 

Zoë, left alone in the kitchen, closed her eyes, clenched her fists, and let out a long breath. 

"That was close," she said. 

"Aye, it was." Jamie's voice replied. Zoë opened her eyes again, to see him standing in the doorway. 

"Yon slaightire nearly went for you," he went on. "And then what'd you have done?" 

"Use my self-defence training. Grab his arm and try to trip him up." She looked down at her dress. "I'd probably have got tangled up in these stupid clothes, though." 

"We'd better get on tidying up," Jamie said. "The Doctor sent me to help you. He's screwing the bolts back onto the door." 

"I don't know why he thinks I need help," Zoë said. By way of demonstration, she picked up a shard of broken pot and looked around vaguely. "Shouldn't there be a waste disposal unit somewhere?" 

"What's one of those, and why d'ye think there ought tae be one?" 

"They had one in the last kitchen I saw. That was in a museum." 

Jamie shook his head. "Just put all the broken bits in a pile. We'll get rid of it later." 

*

The principal bedroom of the farmhouse was all of a piece with the rooms downstairs: the solid, comfortable furniture, the faded walls, the low, beamed ceiling. Sitting beside Mrs Parks on the bed, the Doctor dabbed at her face with a damp cloth. 

"There, that's better," he said. "Now, Mrs Parks— what's your first name?" 

"Betty," the farmer's wife replied. 

"Well, Betty, I take it you heard me asking earlier about this man Travis?" 

She nodded. 

The Doctor took one of her hands in his. "I'm sorry to tell you he's dead." 

"I..." Betty took a deep breath, and let it out. "I don't rightly know how to feel." 

"We're investigating his death, and we were asking—" 

"—If he'd been here. I heard you before. Yes, he has." She blushed. "Many a time." 

"You were... close, then?" 

"He had his way with me," Betty said bitterly. "If that's what you mean." 

The Doctor squeezed her hand encouragingly. "How did you two meet?" 

"'Twas one night. The Dragoons were out after the smugglers. Dick's horse was lamed, and he was thrown. I gave him what help I could. And... he was young, and had a way with words. You've seen William — my husband." 

"Yes, I have. So he began visiting you." 

"He did. My husband's often away on business." She swallowed. "Then, he started asking me for money. I said I had none, save what William let me have for housekeeping. Then he said, if I couldn't find money, he'd let William find out about us. So... I got the money." 

"And that's why your husband called you a thief?" 

"Yes. He found the money gone this morning. And... he got the rest of the tale out of me. If you hadn't come in, I'd likely be dead by now." 

"Now, about the events of the night before last. Was your husband at home?" 

"No. He was away. On business, or so he said. Selling wool." 

The Doctor raised his eyebrows. "At night?" 

"There's those who can't buy in the day." She lowered her voice. "The Scarecrow pays well, 'tis said." 

"Ah. And when did he come back?" 

"After dawn." 

"Were you expecting Travis that night?" 

"He said he might come. But he never did. He couldn't always get away from the camp." 

"When was the last time you did see him?" 

"Three nights before." 

"And he seemed perfectly normal, then?" 

Betty closed her eyes to aid her memory. "He was asking questions. About William and the farm. He wanted money again, more than I could get." 

"One last question. Do you remember if he wore a locket around his neck?" 

"Always." She managed a faint smile. "He said it was gold, but I didn't believe him." 

"Did he ever open it?" 

"No, never." 

"Well, thank you very much for your time." 

As the Doctor rose, she clutched his arm, opening her eyes wide. "Don't leave me here. Not on my own. Please." 

"No," the Doctor said thoughtfully. "No, I certainly don't think that would be a good idea. I'll just be downstairs. Don't worry." 

Humming softly to himself, he made his way to the kitchen. Although some tidying had certainly taken place, it seemed to have ground to a halt. Jamie was sitting on the floor, with a set of weights laid out in front of him, while Zoë was lying prone before the dresser. 

"Got it," she was saying. "I told you there was one missing." 

"One what?" the Doctor asked. 

"One of the weights," Jamie said, as Zoë stood up, a small iron cylinder in her hand. 

"Here. Two ounces." Zoë handed the weight to Jamie and started to brush the dust and cobwebs off her borrowed dress. "What's an ounce, anyway?" 

"D'ye mean to say ye dinna ken what an ounce is?" Jamie asked her. "Thought you knew everything." 

Zoë shrugged. "I presume it's a measurement of weight. Divided in binary fractions, for some reason." 

"Of course it's a weight. I'll have tae teach you your letters next!" Jamie climbed to his feet and set the weights on the kitchen table. 

"So if these weights go two, four, eight," Zoë said, "there must be sixteen ounces in a... L B, whatever one of those is." 

"A pound." 

"I thought that was a unit of currency?" 

Jamie's expression suggested he was beginning to worry about Zoë's sanity. "Lass, if you've never heard of pounds and ounces, how d'ye weigh things?" 

"We use kilograms, of course." 

"Never heard of them. Look, it's simple. Sixteen ounces one pound, fourteen pounds one stone, eight stones one hundredweight, twenty hundredweight—" 

"Jamie McCrimmon, you're making this up!" 

Jamie folded his arms and glared at her. "I'm doing no such thing." 

"But if you're going to have a base-sixteen system of weights and measures, surely you'd use base sixteen all the way up? Whyever would you suddenly switch over to fourteens? It's illogical." 

"People mostly are, I'm afraid," the Doctor said. 

"Oh!" Zoë jumped and seemed to notice him for the first time. "Doctor, how is she?" 

"Resting. But I don't think it's safe to leave her here by herself. Someone needs to go and get help." 

"That'll be me, then," Jamie said. "It's my turn." 

"And you're a good rider. Take one of Farmer Parks's horses, and go back to the Dragoons' camp. Tell them what we've found out — they'll probably want to come and make their own investigation. And if you happen to see Farmer Parks himself, keep away from him. Have you got that?" 

"Of course I've got that. I'm no' daft." 

"Good. Zoë, I need your help with something else. I think we ought to go through Farmer Parks's accounts." 

"Och, pounds, shillings and pence," Jamie said, turning back in the doorway. "She'll love them."


	6. Another Discovery

For the first hour after Jamie had ridden off, the atmosphere in the farmhouse was tense. Zoë bent over the farm's ledgers, trying to reconcile income and outgoings, while the Doctor divided his time between looking after Betty, and nervously darting from window to window. There was no sign of the man Ned — presumably he was still tending to the sheep in some distant pasture — and no sign of Farmer Parks either. It was a mild reassurance that wherever he had gone, he had not taken his blunderbuss, but doubtless he could lay his hands on other weapons in a pinch. 

The Doctor only relaxed when, out of the upstairs window, he saw the red-coated figures of Dragoons riding into the farmyard, Captain Holloway at their head. Hurriedly, he explained the situation; the men spread out to search the buildings and the farmland beyond. Shortly afterwards, Jamie arrived, giving the distinct impression of having dawdled so as not to be seen riding with a gang of Redcoats. 

"What's been happening while I've been gone?" he asked. 

Zoë looked up from her ledgers. "Not a lot." 

"How are you getting on with those accounts?" the Doctor said. 

"They're very unsystematic," Zoë said disapprovingly. "I can't work out where all the money's coming from." 

"That may be deliberate, of course. If he's mixed up with the smugglers— Hello, who's this?" 

Another man was riding down the track to the farmyard. He was wearing civilian clothes, but there was a watchfulness about his attitude that clearly indicated this was no social call. 

"I think he's the Revenue man from Hythe," Jamie said. "They said someone would go and fetch him." 

A moment later, there was a knock at the door, and Jamie's guess was swiftly proved correct. Having been given a brief summary of the situation, the newcomer departed to make his own search of the buildings, with an eye to contraband rather than the fugitive farmer. 

"Doctor," Zoë said. "What are we going to do about Mrs Parks? You said she didn't want to be left here, and I think she's completely right." 

"I asked yon parson about her," Jamie said. "While we were in Dymchurch, I mean. He said we should take her to the City of London. That's an inn," he added hastily, in case the Doctor and Zoë thought he meant the actual city. "He said the landlady would look after her." 

"And make sure her husband couldn't get at her, I hope." 

"You didn't tell me you'd spoken to Doctor Syn as well," the Doctor said. 

"He was out on his pony when those Redcoats were riding back," Jamie explained. "I stopped to say a few words to him." 

"We might as well take Mrs Parks to this inn now, hadn't we?" Zoë said. "There's no reason for us to stay here." 

The Doctor nodded. "I'll go and help the lady get her things together." 

"I suppose we should tell yon Captain what we're doing," Jamie said. "Let's go and find him." 

They discovered the Captain in one of the barns, accompanied by some of his troopers and the Revenue officer. At the far end, a hole had been broken in the wall, revealing a secret room. A dozen or so casks had been dragged out, and a number of wrapped bundles. 

"What's going on?" Zoë asked. 

"Looks like Parks had more dealings with the Scarecrow than selling a few fleeces," the Revenue man explained. "This is contraband. Brandy in the barrels, tobacco in the bales." 

"That'll be where he got his money from, then," Jamie said. 

Captain Holloway nodded. "I wouldn't be surprised. We'll impound this lot, of course, but it'll be nothing to what's passed through his hands over the years. Did you want something?" 

"We're taking Mrs Parks back to Dymchurch," Zoë said. "If that's all right?" 

"I'll have a couple of my men escort you. Just in case Parks is still around somewhere." He paused. "I suggest you and your Doctor take care, while you're still on the Marsh. If Parks was one of the Scarecrow's men, well... he'll have friends. And they won't be too pleased." 

"I'll let him know." 

In the event, there was no trouble on the journey back to Dymchurch, though by the time they returned the sun had already set. There was still no sign of the TARDIS; the field where they had left it was as empty as before.


	7. A Lesson in Riding

The following day, Sunday, dawned bright and clear. As a matter of course, the squire's family and guests attended church. Zoë had asked whether she might be excused, on the grounds that she wouldn't know what to do: her educators had had no time for religion, except to try and suppress any obvious manifestations of it in their charges, and her upbringing before that had been Sadhimist ('and not much of that'). But the Doctor and Jamie had assured her that her attendance was non-negotiable. 

Tucked away in a corner of the squire's pew, listening with half an ear to Doctor Syn's dry, academic sermon, Zoë considered their situation. The night before, she had once again only had time for a few words in private with the Doctor. 

"How are we going to get the TARDIS back?" she'd asked. "If the Scarecrow's got it, he's not going to be very pleased with us, is he?" 

"Well, then," the Doctor had replied. "We shall just have to do the best we can, shan't we?" Which meant, Zoë knew, that as usual he was making things up as he went along. 

She glanced across at Jamie. He seemed unconcerned by the possibility that he might have to spend the rest of his life here. His attention seemed entirely fixed on the squire's daughter — who was, Zoë had to admit, looking very attractive today. If Miss Cobtree was aware of the impression she had made on him, she showed no signs of it; she was listening attentively to the sermon, which seemed interminable. Sir Antony himself had fallen into a light doze, while the Doctor seemed to be wishing for the distraction of his pack of cards. 

For lack of anything else, Zoë looked up at the top deck of the pulpit. Doctor Syn must have caught the movement, because without breaking his sentence, he looked her in the eye. His expression was hard to read behind his spectacles, but it seemed to Zoë that she caught a gleam of amusement. Puzzled, she returned to her thoughts. 

It was after the service, after the congregation had emerged from the church and were slowly dispersing through the graveyard, that the Doctor suddenly put his hand to his pocket. 

"Hello," he said. "What have we here?" 

He held up a folded piece of paper. 

"What is it?" Jamie asked. 

"I don't know." The Doctor turned the paper over in his hands. "Someone must have slipped it into my pocket while we were coming out of the church." He unfolded it, glanced over its contents, and then handed the paper to Zoë. "What do you make of this?" 

"'Found on the Marsh: a blue box that don't belong here. If this be yours, come to the Roman ruins at Lympne.'" She pronounced it 'Limpen'. 

"It's pronounced Limm," the Doctor said. "The P is silent." 

"'To the Roman ruins at Lympne, this afternoon, on your own. Scarecrow.' Will you go?" 

"Oh, I think it would be impolite not to go." 

"But on your own?" Jamie asked. "What'll we do?" 

"I'm sure you're quite capable of entertaining yourselves for an afternoon." 

"But what if it's a trap?" 

The Doctor smiled. "I should be disappointed in the Scarecrow if it wasn't." He drew his companions together, and lowered his voice. "And I'll take precautions, of course. If you don't hear from me by, let's say, six tonight, you'll have to get what help you can and come looking for me." 

"We ought tae come with you," Jamie said firmly. 

"If you do, you'll walk straight into whatever trap the Scarecrow's planning," the Doctor said. "No, it's much better if you two are left at large." 

"Well," Zoë said. "Good luck." 

"Thank you." The Doctor squeezed her shoulder. "I don't have any worries about how you two will cope, whatever happens. I'll see you later." 

He darted off through the churchyard. Jamie took Zoë's hand, and they stood together in silence. 

"There you are!" Cicely Cobtree said, hurrying up to them. "Father was wondering where you were. Would you care to take lunch with us?" 

"Aye, we'd be glad to," Jamie said, cheering up somewhat at the thought. 

"And your friend, the Doctor?" 

"No, he'll be away looking for the TAR— well, for something he's lost." 

"Oh, well, I'm sure it'll turn up. And I wondered: Perhaps you would like to go riding with me, this afternoon? It would be a tragedy to waste such perfect weather as this." 

"I can't ride," Zoë mumbled. 

Cicely laughed. "Then you must be taught." 

*

Zoë, perched atop what seemed to her an extremely large horse, clutched the edge of the sidesaddle with both hands. Standing on the ground below her, Jamie guided her left foot into the stirrup. 

"There," he said. "That's right." 

Cicely, who was holding the horse's reins, seemed to be finding the situation funnier than she had any right to. Jamie, too, looked as if the sight of Zoë on horseback was a welcome distraction from his worries about the Doctor. 

"Walk on," Cicely said. 

The horse obediently took a few steps. Zoë, who had been finding it difficult enough to keep her balance with the animal standing still, swayed and nearly slid off altogether. She redoubled her grip on the saddle. 

"There you are," Jamie said. "Nothing to it. Cicely, why don't you give her the reins and she can have a wee ride on her own?" 

"Just a moment—" Zoë began. But too late. She felt the reins pressed into her hand. 

"Don't worry," Cicely said. "Nellie's quite safe." She crossed to where her own horse, a lithe chestnut, was standing, and swung herself into the saddle with practiced ease. "Shall we ride with you a little?" 

"Why not?" Jamie climbed onto his borrowed mount with equal ease. "To yon hedge and back?" 

"Oh, I think a little further." Cicely pointed into the distance. "Race you to that cottage." 

"On a count of three?" Jamie asked, with a grin. 

"One. Two. Three!" 

The two horses thundered down the paddock, leaving Zoë and her steed far behind. 

"See you later," Jamie called cheerfully over his shoulder. 

Zoë, still hanging on to her saddle, was unable to do more than watch as the two horses leaped the hedge at the far end of the paddock, and galloped away across the Marsh. 

*

Jamie had ridden his best, but Cicely, knowing the Marsh so much better, had outstripped him. He found her waiting for him just short of the small cottage they had set as a finishing line. 

"You're a good rider," she said. 

"So are you." Jamie glanced around, instinctively checking for threats, and seeing none. "Was there any reason we came here?" 

"It's as good a place as any other." Cicely gave him a dazzling smile. 

"Only I wondered if there was anything you wanted to say to me. Ye ken, while there's nobody else about." 

Cicely moved her horse closer to his. 

"That's very astute of you, Jamie. Yes, I did want a word or two in private." 

"What's it about, then?" 

"The death of this poor soldier — what else? People are saying it was Farmer Parks who did it." 

"Aye, well, the Doctor says that's not certain yet. But it happened on his farm, or just outside it. And no-one's seen him since, have they?" 

"He might have other reasons to go into hiding, of course. I heard that he had contraband in his barn." 

"That bit's true enough," Jamie said. "I saw them finding it. So they'd hang him anyway, if they caught him." 

"Yes, or transport him." Cicely shook her head. "His poor wife." 

"She's better off without him." Jamie waited, to see if she had any more questions. After assuring himself that he hadn't, he cleared his throat. "I've got a question to ask as well." 

"Yes?" Cicely looked coquettish. "And what might that be?" 

"You ken this Marsh like the back of your hand. If you wanted to hide a big box, about nine feet high, somewhere near here, where might you put it?" 

Cicely burst out laughing. "To think I was expecting a romantic question!" 

"But can you think of anywhere?" 

"I daresay the smugglers have hiding places all over the Marsh. But if the Customs men cannot find them, why should you succeed?" She seemed to make a mental connection. "Is this the lost property for which your Doctor is searching?" 

"Aye, that's right. And he got a note saying the Scarecrow had it." 

"Then there is nothing you can do, Jamie. Your Doctor must rely upon the Scarecrow's good will — except that by exposing Farmer Parks to the Revenue, he must surely have forfeited it." She gave him a sympathetic look. "I fear that the Scarecrow has you in a cleft stick." 

"Oh, aye." Jamie met her gaze steadily. "And what if I had asked you a romantic question? You're a fine-looking lass, after all." 

"Then I would have been flattered by your attentions. But I could not love you, Jamie. Nor any man save one." 

"Would that be the Scarecrow as well?" 

She nodded. "You think I am a fool, no doubt. Loving a shadow, while the world is full of handsome young men. But I feel there should be more to life than elegant accomplishments and idle fops. The Scarecrow — his life must be one adventure after another." 

"Och, if it's adventure you want, you should come with us," Jamie said. "We've been to places you can't begin to imagine." 

Cicely laughed. "I know you mean well, Jamie. But your Doctor cuts a poor figure as a romantic hero. When I first saw him, I thought he was a travelling tinker." 

"Ye cannae judge by appearances." Jamie's expression hardened. "There's many who thought such things of the Doctor, and lived to regret it." 

"I'm sorry, Jamie. I can see you're as loyal to your hero as I am to mine, in your own way. But la! What a hero!" She laughed again. 

"I think we'd better get back to Zoë," Jamie said firmly. 

"I'll wager she'll be exactly where we left her, the poor child. Still perched on Nellie, like this." She briefly adopted a posture of exaggerated timidity. "But let us return, by all means." 

At the touch of her heels, her horse was once more galloping across the Marsh. Jamie shook his head and set out in the same direction, not bothering to try and keep up. 

*

"Miss Heriot. All alone?" 

Zoë turned, to see that Doctor Syn was leaning on the gate. 

"I suppose so," she said. "Miss Cobtree and Jamie were supposed to be giving me a riding lesson. They got me up on this horse and then rode off somewhere." 

"Ah, such youthful high spirits." 

"I suppose they thought it was funny. And now I don't dare get down." 

The parson raised his eyebrows. "Why not?" 

"In case this stupid horse runs away or something while I'm trying to climb off. I don't trust animals. They aren't rational." 

Doctor Syn looked at the stolid nag, which was peacefully cropping the grass, completely indifferent to the wide-eyed girl sitting on its back. 

"Don't worry," he said. "I do not believe you are in serious danger." He opened the gate, crossed the field to where the horse stood, and eased her foot out of the stirrup. "Now, take my hands. I shall catch you, if you fall." 

A moment later Zoë was standing on the ground beside him, looking up at him with a hint of admiration. 

"Thank you," she said. Whether it was the relief of being once more on reasonably solid ground, or the firm grasp of Doctor Syn's hands, she didn't know, but she was blushing. "It's very kind of you to rescue me like that." 

"Pray don't mention it." Syn secured the trailing reins, and began to lead the patient horse in the direction of the stables. "I hope you will not hold this against Cicely. She is a good girl, at heart." 

"No." Zoë folded her arms. "But I'll definitely have something to say to Jamie about this." She followed the parson, keeping well away from the horse. "Jamie said he spoke to you yesterday, about Mrs Parks." 

"Yes, indeed. It was I who suggested she should place herself in the care of Meg Clouder." 

"She's the landlady of the 'City of London'?" 

"Exactly. She has had a similar unhappy experience, I regret to say. Fortunately, the rogue who tricked her into marriage died soon afterwards, before he could do her any harm." 

Zoe nodded. "And will this Mrs Clouder be able to stop Farmer Parks getting at his wife?" 

"The lads in the village will make sure of that." Having now arrived at the stableyard, Syn tied the horse to a post. "You appear unconvinced. Our ways here on the Marsh may seem strange to you, but we do well enough." 

"I hope so." Zoë glanced around. "I suppose I must seem just as odd to you." 

Doctor Syn held out his arm, and indicated she should take it. "To be frank, Miss Heriot, you do. Before I settled down here, I travelled widely, and yet you are unique in my experience. Tell me, where were you born?" 

"Everybody calls it the City," Zoë said. "You see, its real name is Eurocom Administrative Zone 23/D, and that's a bit of a mouthful. It developed from the Arianespace launch site in Guiana— Well, you wouldn't have heard of it, anyway." 

"No, I do not believe I have." He stopped, and turned to face her. "Even your name is out of the ordinary. Do you know why your parents chose to name you after a long-ago Empress of Byzantium?" 

Zoë shrugged. "I suppose it seemed like a good idea at the time." 

Before Doctor Syn had the chance to interrogate her further, the conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Cicely on horseback. She jumped lightly down from the saddle, greeted Doctor Syn with genuine warmth, and demanded the latest news of Mrs Parks. Jamie arrived a few minutes later. 

"You took your time," Zoë said. "Leaving me all alone like that. I just hope it was worth it." 

"Och, Miss Cobtree's got no time for the likes of us," Jamie said, climbing off his borrowed horse. "It's like you said. Her head's full of nothing but Scarecrow this and Scarecrow that." 

"Serves you right, then." 

"And what about you? You looked as if you were getting on well enough with yon parson." 

Zoë glanced at Doctor Syn, who was still in conversation with Cicely. "He was asking me all sorts of questions. He wanted to know where I was born." 

"Did you tell him?" 

"Well, yes," Zoë admitted, and hastily added "But not _when_ I was born — or rather, will be born." 

"Did he have any news of the Doctor?" 

"I didn't think to ask." 

"Too busy flirting with him, were ye?" Jamie chuckled at her expression. "I'll ask him." 

He handed his horse's reins to Zoë before she could object, crossed over to where Syn and Cicely were talking, and returned shortly afterwards. 

"There's a note from the Doctor waiting for us back at the Hall," he said. "Come on, let's get back and read it." 

"And what about this horse?" 

"Och, well, if you're scared of her I'll sort her out." He took the reins back, and ruffled Zoë's hair with his free hand. "See you back at the Hall."


	8. A Lesson in Mathematics

Zoë intercepted Jamie outside the door of the New Hall, as he returned from the stables. 

"Listen to this," she said. "'All is well. I am in prime health. I count on your observance of previous instructions. The matter exercising our regard will unfortunately take some days before a successful resolution. Accordingly, I shall expect you to remain at New Hall until I write again." She turned the paper over. "That's it." 

"Are you sure the Doctor wrote it?" Jamie said. "He'd never send us away like that." 

"It's his handwriting," Zoë said, not sounding convinced. 

"But perhaps someone was making him write it. Zoë, he could be in trouble! We've got to help him." 

"How? We don't know where he is." 

"Well, go to that Lympne place and start asking around." He shook his head. "But they wouldnae be daft enough to keep him there, not if that's where we knew he was going." 

"No." Zoë looked at the message again. "I wonder why he says 'prime' health. It seems an odd expression." 

"You'll have to think it over while we're at dinner." 

Zoë rolled her eyes. "Of course. We can't let anything get between you and your food, can we?" 

"I've known days and weeks when I didnae ken where the next meal was coming from," Jamie replied seriously. "We'll be no use to anyone if we starve ourselves. And make sure not to let that paper out of your sight." 

"This dress doesn't have pockets," Zoë complained. "You'll have to keep it in your sporran." 

Jamie looked at her dress, which, following the fashion of the time, was cut low at the front. 

"You could always put it in your— I mean, between your—" He gave up. "Och, hand it over." 

"Here you are." Zoë waited for him to stow the letter safely away. "I don't think your idea would have worked, anyway. It's not as if I've got any cleavage to speak of." 

To her satisfaction, he blushed. 

*

"I'm sorry to be a nuisance," Zoë said to Cicely, as they left the dining room. "I need to do some writing. Is there any paper I can use? And a pen?" 

"I shall fetch my writing box at once, Miss Heriot." She thought. "No. If you desire privacy, it would be better if the box remained in my bedroom, and you were to go there to write your letter. When the gentlemen join me, I shall say that you wished to retire early." 

"Thanks." Zoë hurried off upstairs. 

Cicely watched her go. "A cold fish," she remarked confidentially to the grandfather clock. "Can she possibly have a secret admirer? To look at her, one would not think it." 

It was about a quarter of an hour later that Jamie, who had managed to contrive an excuse to slip away from their hosts, stuck his head round the door of the bedroom Zoë and Cicely were sharing. Zoë was lying prone on one of the beds, with Cicely's writing box open before her. The top surface, which would be inside when the box was closed, was covered with green baize. 

"Have you got the letter?" she asked. 

Jamie delved in his sporran. "Here it is." He looked around nervously. "I shouldnae be here." 

"What, you mean in a woman's bedroom? Or is it because we're together in here by ourselves?" 

"That's right. It could ruin your reputation." 

"It can't be helped." Zoë spread the letter out. "Besides, it's not as if we'd get up to anything, is it? You're not my type." 

"I didnae think you had a type. And they don't know we're just friends, do they?" 

"Well, I'm sorry if it offends their sensibilities, but considering that this whole time period seems to have no problem with organised crime, violence against women and I don't know what else, my considered response would be: thpppppt." Zoë blew a raspberry. "Let's get down to business." 

"Aye. What d'ye think? Is it a code?" 

"No, but it could be a stegotext," Zoë said pedantically. "He must have chosen that word 'prime' on purpose. That means a number divisible exactly only by one and itself. I'll make a list of the first few prime numbers. That's got to be part of the key. If there is a key, of course." 

She fumbled with the box until the baize panel lifted at one end, revealing a compartment containing quill pens and paper. Providing herself with a quill and a blank sheet, she began to write. 

"Two," she said. "Three. Five. Seven. This pen isn't working properly." 

"Dip it in the ink," Jamie suggested. 

"OK. Now I've got the stuff on my hand." Zoë fastidiously wiped her fingers on a corner of the paper. "Yuck. Did people really write with these things?" 

"Of course. What else would they use?" 

"Eleven. Thirteen. Seventeen." Zoë fell silent as the pen scratched its way down the page. "Fifty-nine. Ugh, I've blotted it again. This is terribly awkward." 

Jamie looked at the list of numbers, in which Zoë's neat, rounded handwriting contended with a succession of blots and scratches, and tried to make an intelligent remark. 

"So what do we do?" he asked. "Take the second letter, then the third and then the fifth and so on?" 

"Let's see. LLSEAII... No, that's no good. What about words? 'Is well am prime on?' That can't be right either. Perhaps you're supposed to work back from the end... Jamie, stop wandering about. You're distracting me." 

"I'll go and wait in my room, then." 

"Very sensible of you," Zoë said vaguely, and turned back to the letter. "'Write I Hall at expect...'" 

*

It was about twenty minutes later that Zoë burst into Jamie's bedroom, her eyes bright with triumph. 

"I suppose you're going to say I shouldn't be here either," she said. 

"You ken that already," Jamie said. 

"I'm not surprised. You just don't want me to see how untidy you've let everything get. You've only been here two nights and look at the mess." 

Jamie refused to rise to the bait. "Did ye get anywhere with that steggy-thing?" 

Zoë nodded. "It's the first letter of the prime-numbered words. Starting with the sentence after 'I am in prime health.' Look." She spread the letter in front of him, and marked each letter off with her finger. "C O O P E R S B A R N." 

"Cooper's Barn," Jamie repeated. "That's got to be where the Doctor is." 

"Now all we need to know where Cooper's Barn is." 

"I'll go and ask Cicely. Where are you going?" he added, as Zoë made for the door. 

"I'm going to change into my own clothes," Zoë said firmly. "If we're going to be running around after dark I want to be wearing something that doesn't restrict my movements." 

"All right. I'll meet you at the stables." 

"The stables?" Zoë looked worried at the prospect. "You know what I'm like with horses." 

"We can't afford to go on foot — It'd be too slow. You'll just have to hang on behind me." 

"I suppose so," Zoë said, with an air of resignation. 

*

The hour was not sufficiently late that Doctor Syn had retired to bed. He was seated in the Vicarage study, a glass of brandy beside him, reading a volume of Plutarch. Though he appeared entirely absorbed in the work, part of his attention was caught by the sound of the front door opening. He listened, a half smile on his face, at the familiar step on the stair, and the expected knock on the study door. 

"Come in, Mipps," he said. 

The door opened, revealing the little sexton. 

"What brings you here?" Syn asked, as his factotum ambled into the room. 

"Letter from a young lady, Vicar," Mipps replied. "Said it was most important. Always is, isn't it?" 

Doctor Syn set his book aside and held out his hand for the letter. "And which young lady would this be?" 

"Miss Cobtree. Called out to me from her window, she did, and threw this down." 

"Ah." Syn carefully broke the seal, and unfolded the letter. 

"Remarkable, when you thinks about it," Mipps continued, while his master read and reread the paper. "'No petticoats aboard', you always says. But the moment you turns your back—" 

He happened to glance at his master's expression, and fell silent. Doctor Syn had removed his clerical wig and spectacles, and his look of blinking amiability had been replaced by a cold, ruthless determination that Mipps knew only too well. 

"Go and make the horses ready," he said. "There's mischief afoot at Cooper's Barn." He crumpled Cicely's letter up and threw it into the fire. 

"What did she say?" Mipps asked. 

"Apparently the Doctor's young friends are no less astute than he is. Somehow, they have discovered where we are holding him, and are attempting to ride to his rescue. Miss Cobtree could not go with them, but she asks me to do whatever I can to help." 

"Bit o' luck it was you she wrote to, then," the irrepressible sexton remarked. "Couldn't 'ave chosen anyone better." 

Syn nodded curtly. "Very fortunate, as you say. If this hadn't reached me in time— but no matter. It's time to deal with the Doctor once and for all, and there's only one man who can do that." 

Mipps nodded. "The Scarecrow."


	9. Bargain

For the dozenth time since they'd set out, Zoë resolved that she would never travel on horseback again. Clinging onto Jamie for dear life as he urged the horse across the moonlit Marsh, she felt bruised, sore and shaken. Every time they saw another hedge or ditch looming ahead, she was sure she'd be sent flying, probably to break several bones. 

"Zoë!" Jamie said. He had to raise his voice to make himself heard over the thudding of hoofbeats and the wind of their passage. "Zoë, can you hear someone following us?" 

"I can't hear anything," Zoë shouted back. 

"Can you see anybody?" 

Without relaxing her grip on Jamie, Zoë turned her head as far as she could one way, then the other. 

"Yes!" she said. "Men on horses. At least eight, maybe more." 

"How close?" 

"A couple of fields away. But I think they're gaining." 

"Aye, they would. They don't have you to carry." 

"Jamie!" Zoë risked another look, and a note of fear crept into her voice. "Jamie, the men following us... they're dressed as scarecrows. It's the smugglers." 

"Someone must have seen us. They've probably got us surrounded." 

"Only if they've got some way of signalling ahead," Zoë said. She tried to comfort herself with the thought that these people didn't have telephones or radios. But a simple system of light flashes would be enough. "Actually, they probably have. What do we do?" 

"Throw them off the scent," Jamie said firmly. "When we get a bit closer we can leave the horse and creep in on foot. But first we've got to put some space between us and these fellows. Maybe we can lose them somewhere." 

Zoe looked around again. The Marsh seemed to stretch away in every direction, flat and exposed in the moonlight. 

"I don't see how," she said. 

"Make them think we're going somewhere else. Up in those hills, maybe." Jamie suited his actions to his words, turning their horse in the direction of Aldington. 

"But that means they could get to the Doctor before we do." 

"They cannae get to the Doctor and chase us at the same time, can they? Now hold tight." 

Zoë felt her heart sink further as Jamie urged the horse to greater speed. "Don't worry — I will!" 

*

The Doctor thoughtfully set down the King of Hearts in his proper place, then picked up the completed stack of cards and returned it to his pocket. For a moment, he considered starting another game of patience, but instead lay back on the heap of sacks that served as a bed and surveyed his cell. Originally, it seemed, it had merely been one bay in a vaulted undercroft; the brickwork overhead was old, hung with algae, its mortar crumbling. The walls and doorway were of much more recent date — no older than ten years ago, he decided. 

Somewhere outside, he heard the sound of hooves slowing to a halt, then the shuffling of feet and the distant sound of orders. Footsteps approached the cell slowly; then the door was unbolted, and a tall figure strode in. Dressed in tattered rags and a disreputable hat, its face covered by a mask, it could be none other than the smugglers' leader — the Scarecrow himself. 

"Doctor," he said, his voice a wild, distorted croak. 

The Doctor put his hands behind his head. "The Scarecrow, I presume. You wrote me a letter." 

"I did. As I wrote, I have a large box in my possession. It belongs to you, does it not?" 

"That's right. I suppose you're going to ask for something from me, before you give it back?" 

"Perhaps. Or I may decide that the Marsh is safer with you dead and buried, and keep the box for myself. Tell me, why did you decide to go to Parks' farm and ask your questions?" 

"Curiosity, mostly." 

The Scarecrow made a dismissive gesture. "Or an attempt to make your name as a thief-taker? But a common murderer would be a small prize, compared with the notorious Scarecrow. I wonder where your curiosity might lead you next." 

"But if you thought I was that much of a threat to you, you'd have killed me already," the Doctor said thoughtfully. "I wonder why not." 

"You have a knack of unearthing secrets, Doctor. And I have questions which I believe you can answer." 

"Really? Can't you answer them yourself?" 

The Scarecrow seemed unmoved by the Doctor's scornful tone. "In the matter of William Parks, you have seen more than I have." 

"Let me see now. He realised he must be suspected of the man Travis's murder. And since he is one of your men, he came to you for help." The Doctor sat up. "Now I suppose you want to know if he's guilty of murder." 

"Exactly. If he is, he dies. If not, I shall deal with his other offences as I see fit." 

"So you want to make a bargain with me. I find the truth for you, and then you'll give me my box back?" 

"Something of the sort. If I decide that you can be trusted." He leaned forward, staring into the Doctor's eyes. "Can I risk the lives of my men by letting you live?" 

"Well, I'm afraid you'll have to make your own mind up about that. I think I should warn you, though. It's not as easy to kill me as it looks." 

The Scarecrow made a gesture of dismissal. "I have known other men who made that boast to me. They died nonetheless." 

"But if I die, you can't be sure of finding the truth, can you?" 

"I have other means at my disposal. Less direct and less sure, but—" He broke off, at the sounds of a scuffle somewhere close at hand. Almost as soon as it stopped, two pairs of footsteps approached down the corridor, and Zoë appeared in the doorway. Standing behind her was a masked smuggler, one hand gripping her by the hair, the other holding a knife to her back. Zoë herself looked almost as wild as any of the night-riders; her face was smeared with charcoal, and clumps of vegetation were stuffed into her collar and cuffs. As far as could be seen under the charcoal, her expression was defiant. 

"Caught 'er listening at the window," the masked man said. 

"Excellent work, Hellspite," the Scarecrow replied. "Leave her with us. And be on your guard: the Scottish boy is still at large." 

Hellspite, if that was his name, pushed Zoë into the cell, bowed his head in obedience, and left. 

"Doctor!" Zoë rushed over to the Doctor, paying the looming figure of the Scarecrow no attention whatsoever. "Are you all right?" 

"Yes, Zoë, I'm quite well. I'm just trying to come to an arrangement with this gentleman. But he's not being at all reasonable." 

"As I was saying," the Scarecrow continued in his harsh voice, "I now have another token to bargain with. Co-operate, or the girl dies." 

"Please, don't kill me," Zoë begged. She dropped to her knees in front of the Scarecrow. "I'm too young. I don't want to die!" 

"Well, Doctor?" the masked figure repeated. "Rest assured, I— oof!" 

Zoë had lunged forward suddenly, headbutting the Scarecrow in the stomach with all the force she could muster. As he staggered, winded, she clung onto his legs, trying to drag him down. The two swayed together; then the man Hellspite burst into the room, caught her by the shoulders, and pulled her off his master. 

"Spirited lass, ain't she?" he said cheerfully. "Puts me in mind o' them fellows in Hong Kong." 

"Quiet!" the Scarecrow snapped. "And you, girl, have endangered nobody except yourself." 

"D'ye want tae bet on that?" Jamie's voice said, from behind him. "Tell yon fellow not to move, unless he wants you dead." 

The Scarecrow stiffened into immobility. "Do as he says, Hellspite. He has a knife against my back. I take it this is what you intended to accomplish." 

"That's right," Zoë said. "I was a distraction." 

"Infernal nuisance, more like," Hellspite muttered. 

"Oh, Zoë's been called worse things than that," the Doctor said. "Now, let's see. If you call for your men, or try to do anything to us, Jamie will do his best to kill you. That's right, isn't it, Jamie?" 

"Aye, that's right," Jamie chimed in. 

"But if that does happen, your men will kill us straight away. So perhaps we should try to come to an agreement of some kind?" 

"Talk on," the Scarecrow said. 

"I shall attempt to solve the murder, as you ask. In return, you will return my box to me, and not harm Jamie or Zoë in any way." 

"If I do, will you give me your word of honour to keep anything you see and hear tonight secret?" 

The Doctor thought for a while. "I promise." 

"Then I give you my word: Discover the truth, and I shall return your box, and do no harm to the boy or the girl." 

"Good. Jamie, step away from the Scarecrow, and come over here with us." 

Jamie did as he was bidden. His face, like Zoë's, was covered with charcoal, but his expression of displeasure with the bargain was still plain to see. 

"Now, Doctor," the Scarecrow said. "What have you to say?" 

"Well, let's see." The Doctor leaned forward. "This all started when Mrs Parks happened to run into a Dragoon by the name of Richard Travis. I'm not sure they fell in love, exactly, but they certainly began to meet regularly. After a while, he began to demand that she gave him money, or he would tell her husband of the affair." 

The Scarecrow sat down on an empty cask. "Did she pay him?" 

"Yes: her husband, after all, was quite a wealthy man, wasn't he? If not from farming, from receiving contraband. I think, you know, that Travis might have been trying to trace you, through Farmer Parks, and that's why he kept up the affair." 

"He would not be the first. The others," the Scarecrow added casually, "ended their days on Dymchurch gibbet, nourishing the local crows." 

"So you're saying Mrs Parks might have wanted her lover dead," Jamie said. "To stop him giving her away to her husband." 

"Quite right, Jamie. Next, we have the account of the farmhand, Ned White. His version is that he heard Farmer Parks and Travis arguing, and this argument ended in murder — which he did not actually see." 

The Scarecrow was now leaning forward, just as the Doctor was. They might almost have been collaborators rather than prisoner and captor. 

"Then somebody else could have been present. Mrs Parks? I doubt it, Doctor." 

"Well, it could have been her. Or perhaps Parks wasn't alone. Maybe some of your men had walked back with him." 

"More supposition, Doctor. Have you any actual evidence?" 

"There is one thing," the Doctor said thoughtfully. "We're told that Travis always wore a locket around his neck. Now, that's gone missing. I suppose if it were to turn up, that could help." 

The Scarecrow laughed harshly. "You expect me to search everybody on the Marsh for it?" 

"Well, why not?" Zoë broke in, sounding impatient. "Everyone says you're the person on the Marsh with all the real power. Why don't you use it for something practical? All you'd need is a metal detector and— Oh. They don't exist yet, do they?" 

"No, they don't," the Doctor said. "I must apologise for my young friend. She's a little ahead of her time." 

"And bossy with it," Jamie added. "She's been out of temper ever since we got here. Can't even get her head around pounds and ounces." 

Zoë bridled. "I can understand them perfectly well. I just think they're a very illogical system of weights." 

"Enough!" The Doctor held up his hands. "This isn't the time to argue about..." He tailed off, then resumed thoughtfully. "About weights." 

"What about weights?" Jamie asked. 

"Travis's body was floating in the dyke, wasn't it? But if the murderer wanted to hide it, he could have weighted it down with a few heavy stones and it would have disappeared for good." 

"Perhaps he was in a 'urry," Hellspite suggested, from his station by the door. 

"Maybe." The Doctor turned to Zoë. "What did Ned White say about the moment of the murder? His exact words, I mean?" 

"'He turns away,'" Zoë repeated. "'T'other man, not the master. And master, he takes his stick and— I dursen't look, but I hears a splash.'" 

Despite their situation, Jamie couldn't help grinning at the contrast between Zoë's clear, precise voice and the rustic dialect of the words she was saying. 

"But just a second," she added sharply. "That means nobody would have had time to take anything from the body. But something was taken from the body — money, and the locket. Therefore—" 

"Therefore Ned White's pretty tale is a lie," the Scarecrow said. 

The Doctor nodded. "He's probably had time to improve on it since I spoke to him. If you'd killed me and had to find all this out again, the story he told you might have been consistent." 

"Quite so. I shall deal with him at once. Doctor, you and your friends will come with me, in case he decides to change other points in his story. You would notice the discrepancy." 

"Well, yes." The Doctor held out his hands. "We're hardly in a position to refuse."


	10. Condemned

Within the hour, they were once more at the farm. The Scarecrow and his men had tied up their horses a few fields away and approached on foot, for reasons of stealth. The Doctor, Jamie and Zoë had been left with the horses, bound hand and foot. Clouds were now drifting across the face of the moon, casting the Marsh into shadow. 

"Yon Scarecrow's no' a very polite fellow, is he?" Jamie asked. "We did what he asked, and he's left us trussed up in the middle of nowhere. What does he do when he's having a bad day?" 

"I think he tries very hard not to lose his temper," the Doctor said. "Certainly not to the point where he makes mistakes. I don't think he could afford to make many." 

"I thought you said he was really in charge of everything round here?" 

"That's why he can't afford to make mistakes. If he gets overconfident, or antagonises his followers, or gets associated with some terrible act of injustice, people might start thinking they'd be better off without him. It wouldn't take much to tip the balance against him. Do you see what I mean?" 

"I'd not thought of it quite like that. So that's why he's trying to catch whoever killed yon Redcoat?" 

"Exactly. If word gets around that the Scarecrow's in the habit of killing soldiers, the Army will start to pay more attention to him." 

"I wonder who he really is," Jamie said. "He's got to be someone in Dymchurch. Otherwise he couldnae have got after us so quickly. There's not so many people it could be." 

"I don't think you ought to guess," Zoë said. "Someone might be listening." 

Jamie sounded startled. "I thought you'd gone to sleep. It's not like you to be awake and not telling everyone what they're doing wrong." 

"No, I'm awake." Zoë sounded tired and grumpy. "But all this riding doesn't agree with me. I've got bruises everywhere. And why don't horses have mudguards?" 

"I'm afraid there'll have to be more riding tonight," the Doctor said. "We've got to get back to wherever they're keeping the TARDIS, haven't we?" 

Zoë groaned. "Well, if the Scarecrow gets to think that we know his secret identity, he won't let us go, will he? We'd be a threat to him." 

"That actually made sense," Jamie said. "There's definitely something the matter wi' you." 

"Oh, Jamie!" 

They were interrupted at this moment by the sudden opening of a dark lantern. 

"Message from the Scarecrow," the man said — by his voice, Hellspite, the Scarecrow's lieutenant. "He wants you three at the farm." 

*

The farmyard didn't look any more attractive in what was left of the moonlight. The Doctor, Jamie and Zoë, with their hands still tied, were led forward, to where a number of the Scarecrow's men were standing in a rough circle. Another dark lantern, on a barrel, illuminated the surly face of Ned White. 

"Take care not to try my patience," the Scarecrow's voice was saying. He was standing behind the lantern, invisible in the shadows. "You cannot hide your crime from me." 

The farmhand's expression did not change. "Told 'ee what I saw." 

"You have told me nothing but lies. You men, keep him under guard." 

As Ned was dragged away, a dark, ragged figure crossed the farmyard to where the Doctor and his companions were waiting. 

"Is something the matter?" the Doctor asked. "You wanted to see us." 

"He remains resolute in his story," the Scarecrow replied, in a low voice. "My men have searched the hayloft where he slept, and found nothing. If we cannot prove he stole from the dead man, there is only your word against his." 

"Then he hid the locket somewhere," Jamie said. "You'll have to search the farm." 

"He was digging in that manure when we met him," Zoë said. "Perhaps it's in there." 

"But if we did make a search and found it, we wouldn't have any proof that he put it there," the Doctor said. "I suggest he should be the one to retrieve it for us." He turned to the Scarecrow. "Suppose you make him think you're going away now. Let him hear you say you're going to get reinforcements, and you'll be back in an hour to turn the place upside down." 

"But in fact, we lie in wait for him." The Scarecrow nodded slowly. "If he is guilty, he will try to escape." 

"And unless he's in a very great hurry, he'll try to get away with what he's stolen, too," the Doctor said. "He won't get very far without money, and he's probably hidden the locket in the same place." 

*

Still with their hands bound and under guard, the Doctor and his companions kept their eyes fixed on the farm buildings. At the Scarecrow's insistence, they had been taken some distance from the farm, in case by some accident they gave away the presence of the watching smugglers. In the intermittent moonlight, the buildings seemed to dissolve into a confusing jumble of shapes, hardly reconcilable with the simple layout of the farm in daylight. 

A creak of wood was briefly audible over the sound of the night breeze — by the sound of it, a door or window being forced open. Ned White had been locked in one of the less secure outbuildings, ostensibly to await the smugglers' return. Now, it seemed, he had taken the bait. A shadow was briefly visible, darting among the farm buildings. Then, there was a lengthy pause; if he was digging, the sounds were too faint to reach the spot where the Doctor and his friends were watching. 

Suddenly, there was a flash of light from a shadow close to the farmhouse. Running feet were heard, and shouting. The watchers jumped to their feet, and hurried down to the yard. By the time they got there, the Scarecrow's impromptu court was again in session. In addition to the dark lantern, the top of the barrel was now graced by a stained leather pouch, a number of coins, and the missing locket. 

"Your own actions expose you," the Scarecrow was saying. "If you make a full confession, I may be merciful. If you do not, you can expect only an ignominious death." 

"I got nothing to say to 'ee," the farmhand retorted. 

"So be it. You will be found as you left your victim, drowned — with the evidence of your guilt close at hand. There will be no doubt who murdered the dragoon, and it will appear that you died by accident while trying to make your escape. Take him away." 

"But he can't—" Zoë said, sounding shocked. 

"I'm afraid he can," the Doctor said. 

"It isn't right, though. He should have had a trial. A proper one, I mean, with a judge and a jury." 

"He'd still have been hanged," Jamie said. 

Zoë still sounded unhappy with the situation. "We don't even know why he did it." 

"Perhaps he was sweet on Mrs Parks. He gets to hear yon Redcoat's treating her badly. So he kills the Redcoat, and makes out it was her husband did it. The husband gets hanged, and he gets the girl. And that," he added, sounding as if another flash of inspiration had just hit him, "is why he didnae try to sink the body. He wanted it to be found." 

"Top of the class, Jamie," the Doctor said. 

"A plausible explanation," the Scarecrow's voice said from behind them. They turned, to see him standing there, flanked by two of his men. There was no sign of the remaining smugglers or Ned White — presumably, his grisly sentence was being carried out at that moment. 

"Ah, there you are," the Doctor said. "I think you'll agree that I've fulfilled my part of our bargain." 

The Scarecrow bowed his head. "You have. But I still have not decided what your fate will be." 

"You still need to keep your end, don't you? You've promised to give me my box back, so we need to go and pick it up. And if you do decide to kill me, my property goes to Jamie and Zoë, so they need to be there. Whatever decision you make, you need to take us to wherever you're keeping my box first. That's what you promised." 

There was a long pause. 

"Agreed," the Scarecrow eventually said. 

*

This was another smugglers' hideout, one that looked as if it was normally used as a stable. The Doctor, Jamie and Zoë had been hustled into a small, dank room containing rotted fragments of wood, but not before they had noticed the tall blue box sitting peacefully in one of the stalls: the TARDIS. 

"You agree that our bargain is now concluded?" the Scarecrow asked. He was standing in the doorway, flanked by two of his men. 

The Doctor rubbed his wrists, where they had been bound. "I agree." 

"Then this is my decision: You will die tonight. I am sorry, Doctor, for you could have been very valuable to me; but I cannot take the risk of letting you live." 

"Yes," the Doctor said. "I was afraid you were going to say that. Do you think I could have some time alone with Jamie and Zoë, to say goodbye?" 

"You have until first light. I shall be occupied until then, arranging for the proper discovery of White's body." 

He left, gesturing to one of his subordinates to follow him. As their footsteps receded, the remaining man closed the door and shot the bolt. The Doctor's sombre expression vanished immediately, to be replaced by a cheerful smile. 

"Now what?" Jamie whispered. 

"Now we need to do a little vanishing trick," the Doctor replied, no less quietly. He pulled the sonic screwdriver from his pocket. "Jamie, stand behind the door. Zoë, get down on your hands and knees — that's right. Now I'll stand here. Ready?" 

His companions nodded. 

The Doctor aimed the sonic screwdriver at the door. As at the farmhouse, there was a clatter of metal as the bolt unscrewed itself and fell to the ground. The door swung open. The guard spun round, a cudgel at the ready, but the Doctor caught his arm and flung him forward; he tripped over Zoë and landed face-down on the floor. Jamie leapt onto him, covering his mouth before he could think to call for help. In another minute, the man was bound and gagged. 

The three peered cautiously into the stable. No smugglers could be seen, and the reassuring shape of the TARDIS was still visible in the front corner. They hurried across; as they passed the door by which they had been brought in, Jamie snatched up a hoe-like implement that could have been a farmer's, or a smuggler's tool, and jammed the door shut as best he could. 

"Jamie!" the Doctor called. "Over here!" 

Jamie made for the TARDIS at a run. The Doctor and Zoë were already there, and the Doctor was delving in his pockets for the key. Somewhere behind them, they could hear their erstwhile guard calling for help; he must have been able to shift their improvised gag. Running feet could be heard, and the door rattled. Then the TARDIS was open, and Zoë disappeared inside it. The Doctor pushed Jamie through the door, and darted in after them. The door was slammed behind him. 

Almost immediately, there was a dull crunch from within the police box, as if some cumbersome machinery had been set in motion. The lamp on top began to flash, and the underground stable echoed with a grating roar, rising and falling in intensity. The outer door of the stable shuddered under repeated blows, but the TARDIS was already fading. By the time the door burst open, there was no sign that the TARDIS, or the three travellers, had ever been there. 

*

"So who d'ye think the Scarecrow was?" Jamie asked. He and Zoë were sitting side by side against the wall of the console room, their legs stretched out in front of them, while the Doctor darted around the console flicking switches and adjusting dials. 

"Oh, it's Doctor Syn," the Doctor said, not looking up from the controls. "I recognised his voice, while we were talking. He was so interested in what we'd discovered that he wasn't concentrating on disguising his voice." 

"That would make sense," Zoë said. "When he was talking to me in the paddock — when you were riding around with Cicely, Jamie — he was looking me right in the eye. And the glass in his spectacles looked flat, not curved. That's when I started to wonder." 

"So what if it was flat?" Jamie asked. 

"It means he wasn't wearing them to correct his eyesight. He was wearing them as a disguise. Like Clark Kent." 

"But Doctor Syn canna be the Scarecrow. He's an old man." 

"Not as old as he pretends to be," the Doctor said. 

"But they're so different." 

"So are Bruce Wayne and Batman," Zoë said. "And Peter Parker and Spiderman. If you've got a secret identity, it's got to be as different as possible. And I was right about him being young enough to lead an active life, wasn't I?" 

"All right, you can be right sometimes," Jamie admitted. 

"Thank you," Zoë said. Tentatively, she put her hand on Jamie's arm. "I'm sorry, Jamie." 

"Sorry for what?" 

"Well, you thought he was on your side. A Jacobite, like you, fighting for what he believed in. And then he turned out to be— well, not evil, exactly, but..." 

Jamie shrugged. "I've learned better than to trust a man just because he says he's on my side. Anyway, his father was the man who fought for the Prince. I'm not sure yon Scarecrow ever fought for anyone except himself." He smiled at Zoë. "Now I think of it, I do see how they can be the same person. Remember when he was preaching?" 

"Yes. He tried to catch my eye then as well." 

"Och, Zoë, what are we to do wi' you? There's a handsome rogue keeps trying to get you alone and look into your eyes, and all you can think about is if his glasses are real or not." He smiled at the thought. "Anyway, I was talking about when he was preaching." 

"To look at you, I wouldn't have thought you had anything in your mind apart from Miss Cobtree," the Doctor said. 

"I heard enough," Jamie said firmly. "He was playing with us. He thought he was the cleverest fellow in the room and nobody knew it. I've seen you two look like that enough times — and heard you both, as well." 

"I think I've listened to quite enough of your nonsense," Zoë said. She pulled herself to her feet, wincing with every movement. "I'm going to take a long, hot bath." 

"You need one," Jamie said helpfully. "You look like something that's been dredged out of a pond." 

Zoë looked down at him. "Now there's the pot calling the kettle black. Talking of which, I hope this charcoal washes off." 

"Whose idea was that?" the Doctor asked. 

"Jamie's. He'd brought a bit of burnt wood from the fireplace back at the New Hall. He said it would stop our faces showing up in the dark. It worked, too." She paused, as another thought struck her. "Doctor, do you think we did the right thing? I suppose we found the murderer, but then when the Scarecrow had him drowned—" she broke off, with a grimace. 

"Oh, I think we've made things better for Mrs Parks," the Doctor said. "If we hadn't been there, she might be dead, or alone on that farm with a murderer." He left the TARDIS to its own devices, and patted her on the shoulder. "We might not have defeated an alien invasion or brought down a dictator, but I think we've done the best we could, in the circumstances." 

"Do you think we should have done something about yon Scarecrow?" Jamie asked. "He thought you were going to, didn't he?" 

The Doctor chuckled. "I think he was overestimating me. He had hundreds of loyal followers and a support organisation he'd built up over years. I had a screwdriver, and you two." 

"Sounds like good odds to me," Jamie said. "I reckon you could have had him arrested, if you'd wanted to." 

"I don't see how," Zoë said. "We only just managed to get away as it was." 

The Doctor glanced at his watch. "Well, don't waste your time wondering about it now. Go and get cleaned up, both of you. And then you need to catch up on your sleep. You've been awake all night." He pulled Jamie to his feet, and shooed both of his companions out of the room. 

For a few moments, he mentally reviewed the events of their visit to the Marsh, pondering Jamie's last question. Then he shrugged, and turned back to the controls. What was done was done, and he certainly wasn't going to go back there and do it all again. Tomorrow would bring its own adventure.


End file.
